


What the water gives

by sunofthemoon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), F/F, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-30 04:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunofthemoon/pseuds/sunofthemoon
Summary: A curse, a proposal, and a Goddess in disguise.The Princess of Mist Haven has struck a deal with her mother. This full moon, she must gain the Goddess's hand in marriage or marry a suitor chosen by her parents. The only problem? The Goddess she is devoted to is nothing more than an unnamed statue in the river, made of marble and gold, and so,sobeautiful.When Emma sends a prayer out to the heavens, she does not expect a strange woman to enter her life, making herfeelthings. If The Woman is actually the Goddess in disguise who has a curse to break free from, then Emma remains oblivious as she ping-pongs between dislike and lust, unable to choose between The Goddess and the mischievous beauty who calls herself Regina.Written for Swan Queen Supernova 2019: Protostar challenge.





	What the water gives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedDove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDove/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Nymph by The River [ Art ]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487104) by [RedDove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDove/pseuds/RedDove). 

> This has taken me too long to complete; with a crashed laptop, several distractions, and a whole lot of help, I'm finally able to present this.
> 
> Without my Betas: Ivy and Intensedreams, this would still be a blob; thank you for shaping this mess into something readable.
> 
> A huge shoutout to Kay who read my fic and helped me work through the plot with a calmness I didn't possess at times.
> 
> Thank you to Ang for always checking in on me, making sure I'm writing and motivating me when I didn't have faith in myself to finish this. 
> 
> And lastly thank you to the supernova mods for your tireless work, and for matching me with Pal and her incredible artwork that inspired this fic!
> 
> WARNINGS!  
\- In this fic, there are mentions of near drowning, and falling from high ground. Please avoid reading this fic if these things trigger you. Your mental health is more important.

The idea of something as subtle and delicate as _love_ hadn’t been passed down onto the child born from it. Across kingdoms, each and every royal walks around with the blood of an arranged marriage running through their veins—the red of it sings of purity, of a father’s careful selection and a mother’s strict upbringing. There is only one child in all the realms who runs through battlefields with the blood of a shepherd, true love making its song known as she defends her people, sword slicing through the enemy with ease.

Love, an emotion that most feel is connected to the heart, doesn’t reside within Emma when she only has eyes for the Goddess that sits in a nearby village; her marble sculpture an immovable force that the royals have yet to find a way to bring into the palace. Stubbornness clings to the Princess of Mist Haven almost as much as the sculpture, and her parents fear their daughter may never find someone to wed for as long as the Goddess stands as an immortal force out in the open, drawing the Princess there every full moon without fail.

“Stay today,” Snow will plead, hand grasping her daughter’s shoulder as she makes to leave. Emma will shake her off, offering her a pained smile before setting out on her horse regardless of the calls that tug her back to the palace. When she returns, Snow will have a matchmaker at her side, Emma called to sit as they go through potential suitors that might lure her away from the Goddess.

Emma will stiffen at each name. Ten, twenty of them called out until she will sweep aside the horoscopes, letting them scatter down onto the floor. “I will marry _ only _ the Goddess,” she will demand, chest heaving and fingers curled into a fist.

“A Goddess without a name?” Snow will taunt, pleading with her gaze that will shift to the discarded horoscopes of men and women who can provide Emma with more than a cool, detached touch. There will be no discussion afterward, and Snow will be subject to her daughter’s silence until the next full moon, when the process will start all over again.

This time, as Emma packs to leave, Snow stands as a silent spectator.

“You will try to stop me,” Emma says, shoving two apples into her satchel, “but I will leave regardless.”

Snow sighs, palm resting on Emma’s shoulder to pause her frustrated actions. “I only want to see you happy,” she says, tightening her grip on Emma as if that would make her stay. “You may believe yourself content with a marble statue, but you are your father’s daughter, and you will come to realise that eventually… you will want someone to talk back, someone to touch you with affection. This is just as painful as a one-sided love, Daughter.”

Emma stands still under her mother’s touch, watching the setting sun from the open balcony doors. “What will you have me do, Mother?” she asks with a defeated sigh, her shoulders slouching and lips pulling down into a frown.

Snow turns Emma toward her, the sun illuminating Emma's braided hair to have it glow golden. “Pray,” Snow offers. “If she really is a Goddess, then ask her to take the form of the one you love and marry you. If she doesn’t do as you ask, then perhaps the statue is just that—a statue.” Stroking Emma’s cheek, Snow breathes in to gather whatever strength she has left. “If she does not come to you in this full moon, then you must marry someone else.”

“Mother I—”

“This is _ not _ about you anymore, Emma,” Snow snaps, patience thinning. “Your father and I are growing old. Soon you will have to take your place as Queen, and if you do not have a companion, someone to balance out your stubbornness, then…” Snow trails off, thinking about their allies that would be all too happy to merge kingdoms. Emma is a good soldier, but she is not patient nor shrewd when it comes to the financial issues that the kingdom may be faced with. Balance, amongst other things, is entirely too important to weigh down on the shoulders of a mere effigy.

Emma pulls back from her mother, buckling her satchel and sheathing her sword. “She will come,” Emma says with conviction. “You’ll see. The Goddess will come and marry me just to prove you wrong.”

When Emma flees from her bedchambers, Snow sincerely hopes that this Goddess is either prideful enough to rise to the challenge or benevolent enough to reward Emma’s devotion. “I hope so too, daughter,” Snow whispers after Emma, an unheard blessing cloaking the Princess with acceptance.

:::

Emma is angry enough that she reaches the village in six candle notches rather than the usual seven. Her horse who is just as upset as she, snorts in her face at being pushed so hard. “How about a warm place to sleep and something satisfying to eat?” she asks him, the brown of his coat black with mud.

He pretends not to hear her, trotting along to the hovel that houses him every time they ride into the village. Emma doesn’t bother to follow him, face lifting up to the heavens to try and see what lies beyond the twinkling stars and inky black fabric of the night. Does her Goddess sit there, on the moon as she watches Emma’s pain? Does she lie across a bed of stars with a desire as intense as Emma’s? Sometimes the daughter of Mist Haven believes it to be true, and others, much like this night, she feels her belief wavering under the words of her mother.

“Princess!”

Snapping her gaze back down, Emma laughs as she’s surrounded by children, all of them too young to be up this late, but she supposes her horse has made a big enough noise to announce her presence. “Quieten down, little ones,” she whispers conspiringly, their large eyes watching her every movement as she clicks her fingers, index finger rotating around the group of children until it lands on a small boy with brown hair. 

“You!” she exclaims, reaching behind his ear to pull out a gold coin she had hidden in her sleeve. The other children _ awe _ in wonder at the simple trickery they are all too eager to believe, and Emma feeds into their innocence as much as she possibly can before the world will inevitably taint them 

“_ You _ are in charge of this,” Emma tells the boy, and he grabs the coin in glee, the other children chasing after him as he runs through the streets without any heed for Emma’s warnings to be quiet. They will spend it on flavoured ice and pumpkin juice, a treat for the children from their Princess who spoils them every month on behalf of the immovable Goddess.

Come tomorrow, the full moon will rise, and Emma will afford herself the day with her Goddess before making her way back to the palace with the constant ache in her chest a little easier to cope with. _ Devotion _, perhaps, is a far more fitting name for what Emma feels—but for tonight, she shoves such thoughts aside. 

For now, there's an inn that awaits her with a hot meal and a bed, where the presence of her sword isn't questioned, and the meagre satchel she hoists up onto her shoulder isn't scorned at—and for a Princess with too many responsibilities, this place offers her more than she can possibly ask for. 

Pulling a practiced smile onto her lips, Emma inhales deeply and sets off toward the establishment. 

…

“I expected you later,” Ruby says from the front desk, the rickety thing wobbling as Ruby leans her weight on it to sit up from the equally unsteady chair.

Emma hikes her satchel further up on her shoulder, shrugging as she does so. “Perhaps this time I thought I would catch you falling from that old chair of yours. Didn’t want to miss it, is all.” How many times must Emma beg Ruby to replace that chair? She had offered her own coin for the safety of her friend, but Ruby had been insistent about the appeal of a vintage look the inn barely manages to maintain.

“If you weren’t a Princess, I might take offence to your cheekiness.” It’s said in jest, the title of Princess meaningless here when Emma is considered as one of the locals, an adopted daughter that brings happiness with her wherever she goes. A key to a room is handed over without further fuss, the only one with a view of the river and the statue of the Goddess.

Emma says, “I also might’ve missed you.” The words so quiet that even Ruby, who has an acute sense of hearing, has to strain to listen.

Keeping her smile to only a small tug of her lips, Ruby gestures up the stairs for Emma to go. “I’ll bring you something to eat,” is all Ruby says, and Emma is grateful that her one sliver of what might be considered love isn’t commented on.

When she makes her way to her room, her satchel landing with a thud onto the wooden floor, Emma expels a tired sigh as she tugs at the ribbon securing her unruly braid. “What am I to do?” she asks the empty room, combing through her braid with practiced fingers, her hair falling loose around her shoulders as she makes her way to the open window.

The sun has long since set, plunging the world into a darkness that feels blinding without any real sense of direction. Emma has never understood those who preferred the night over day, where their steps can be miscalculated and the masks people wear can be mistaken for something real. Although, she understands there can be an allure to darkness, where the light casts its glow on things that are important—where the moon reflects off the surface of the river, illuminating the statue of the Goddess that seems closer than she is. “I need you,” Emma whispers, resting her chin on her fist, elbow digging into the windowsill. “I visit you every full moon without fail. I brave the mountain that crumbles each year, I walk along the bank that is eaten by the river, and yet...”

Emma has done much in the name of devotion. She has been journeying to the Goddess since her first visit to this village three summers ago, and despite the locals telling her the statue was just that—a statue—she had declared it a river Goddess, had wanted it enough that she had tried to move it to her palace. But Emma’s belief had been tested when it refused to move, and sometimes, she likes to think that she had passed _ that _ trial by carving out time to make this journey instead. This one however, where she must gain the Goddess’s hand in marriage… Emma isn’t so sure.

If only she could court the Goddess, prove her worth like the princes and princesses that had come before her. Even her father, who had nothing to give her mother, still proved himself by showing kindness and bravery where it was needed. That’s what she needs, Emma thinks, a chance to prove her worth.

Looking longingly at the Goddess, Emma straightens her spine with a determined inhale. “Come to me,” she tells the Goddess with a tremor in her voice, “come to me in a form I can recognise. Let me show you that I am worthy of your hand.” Others might laugh, they might label her devotion as a madness, but the tug she feels in her chest is enough for Emma to know her trust is not misplaced.

The ribbon in her hand is released to the wind, the yellow silk fluttering away with a prayer and Emma’s choked out, “_ Please _.”

…

There’s an inane sense of safety despite her title, Emma sleeping soundly on a lumpy mattress as if her enemies wouldn’t try to kidnap her in her slumber. She’s always been this way, blind in her faith of something beyond the stars that isn’t as far as she might picture it to be.

“_ The Gods smile on you, Princess of Mist Haven _ ,” the voices sing, soothing the child of true love as she rests before the full moon, her heart heavy and mind full. “ _ What is greater than love? _” the voices ask, their hands running down the wave of Emma’s golden hair, chasing away nightmares that might plague their beloved daughter.

Downstairs, the door to the inn opens, a woman drenched from the coming rains stands in the foyer, a yellow ribbon clutched in her hand. Her dark hair and full lips read with danger, curvaceous hips wrapped up in velvets and silks too rich to belong to a commoner. “A room, please,” she says—_ demands _ with only a hint of politeness. The bitter hues of her voice makes Ruby shiver; but at the sight of two gold coins, Ruby reaches behind her to produce a key to the next available room, swallowing down her curiosity that is paid to remain silent. 

The woman doesn’t ask after food or drink, doesn’t bother to inquire over fresh clothes and clean blankets. Instead, she ascends the stairs as if floating, the voices singing her arrival to Emma who still sleeps soundly.

For what is greater than love, indeed? 

(And for the Princess who doesn't believe in such shallow declarations, _ devotion _ might just be enough of an answer.)

:::

Ruby has been running this establishment since the death of her grandmother in the ogre wars a few years ago, her heightened senses a product of an ancient line of werewolves that have long since been tampered down to a good sense of smell and hearing. She’s thankful when she brushes her fingers along old paintings that she doesn’t have to turn into a wolf at every full moon. If Ruby had to transform, perhaps she would never get to witness the utter devotion of the Princess of Mist Haven toward the Goddess—and to think it was a mere sculpture set in the most dangerous part of the river, subject to rude vulgarities as a coming of age ritual for the village boys. 

“Do you need help today, Ruby?” The sound of the Princess’s voice startles Ruby from her thoughts, her grip on the painting loosening as she makes to straighten it out.

“Don’t you have other things you would rather be doing than spending time with an old lady like me?”

Emma scoffs at that, re-straightening the picture that hangs askew when Ruby steps back. “You are no older than my mother, and so I should respect you as such—unless you would rather me gossip about the romances of this village as if you were interested in the upkeep of them?”

Ruby laughs, passing over a dusting rag as she shakes her head at the Princess. “I am always invested in the romances of this village. What entertainment is there otherwise?”

Emma shrugs at the question, mind already lost to Ruby as she wipes down every painting, coughing when she shakes the rag out. The question of when Ruby last cleaned isn’t asked, not when the grime that settles along the walls is enough of an answer for Emma to go in search of a bucket.

“I’m going to the well!” she calls. Ruby grunts her acknowledgement from where she stands in the kitchen chopping vegetables, her knife tapping away at a speed that makes Emma flinch. Hesitating at the doorway for Ruby to say something else—something _ important _, Emma frowns when nothing comes.

By the time Ruby is attentive enough to properly answer Emma, remembering to tell the Princess about their new guest, the door to the inn swings shut. “She'll learn at supper,” Ruby mutters to herself, watching Emma trek to the well from the kitchen window. 

… 

The well has been standing for centuries some say—almost as long as the sculpture in the river that shines despite its age. It is made from brick and stone however, the complete opposite to the Goddess who is made from marble with gold trimmings. Emma sets her bucket down on the wet ground, peering down into the well that holds the same water that flows around the Goddess. It’s such a simple thing, but Emma can’t help but feel giddy as she lowers the pail down into the depths of the murky water, her fingers plunging into the liquid when she grasps the rim of the pail to fill her bucket. The Princess takes her time doing the mundane task, panting with the exertion it takes her to lift the bucket from the ground once she’s done .

“Excuse me,” a voice says, the silky sound of it making the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck stand up. Her hand slips, and the bucket falls down with a thud. Exhaling heavily, Emma gives up on trying to lift the bucket from the ground, the water too heavy despite the careful measurement. Her sweaty palms and racing heart do not aid her grip in any way, and Emma is almost convinced she might be having a heart attack. “Do you know where the nearest stream is?”

Swallowing thickly, because Emma has never felt this way about a _ voice _ before, she stands to her full height and squints in the harsh glare of the sun that hides the stranger’s face. “It’s quite a way from here, Miss,” she responds, casting a glance toward the stream that’s tracked with more mud, the distance between here and there barely a five-minute walk. Stupidly, because there's butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly, Emma asks, “Do you require an escort?” like she’s a hot-blooded lover looking for a wife.

The woman laughs, and Emma shields her eyes to try and selfishly make out the stranger's face, the sun still in her eyes as it peeks out from between two cottages. “Oh no,” the woman says, “I seem to have lost my balance and fallen, I simply wish to wash off a bit of mud.”

Emma contemplates it for a moment, her thoughts straying from here to there as she tries not to shift her position to finally look upon the stranger’s face. Walking to the stream just to wash off a bit of mud seems like a silly quest when she will only fall again climbing up the slope. “I could wash it off for you,” Emma offers without thought. “If it is only a small amount, then water from the well will do the job just fine.”

“I hear you are a Princess,” the woman says, a hint of disbelief and awe in her voice. “Such menial tasks should be beneath you.”

Emma chuckles, bending down at the waist again to pick up the bucket that finally heaves its way up, water splashing over her tunic. “Helping another is no menial task—although I would have thought you more worried about my offer to wash off the mud from wherever it clings.”

“Should I be worried?”

Emma cocks her head to the side as she considers the question, shifting the bucket in her hand as it splashes more water down her front. She’s felt more about this stranger than she has about anyone in her entire life, but Emma reminds herself of why she’s here in the first place, and casts aside her fleeting attraction to replace it with her devotion to the Goddess. “You have no reason to be worried if my heart is already taken, Miss.”

“Then I will allow you to help me,” the woman answers easily, lifting her dark dress to expose mud caked feet and ankles. Emma hesitates at the sight, brows pulled together in a frown. The only feet she has ever touched has been that of the Goddess, and with the full moon looming ahead, Emma knows she must remain pure in both thoughts and deeds should she maintain the prayer her mother had put into her head. Although, surely helping a stranger in the Goddess’s name will clear any impure intent that may linger in the action? Even if Emma can’t help but swallow thickly at the sight, her muscles tense and unforgiving as she forces herself into action.

Leaning down, Emma tips the bucket onto the stranger’s feet, mud stubbornly refusing to move with the will of the water alone. Unthinkingly, Emma runs her fingers along soft skin, washing off the mud with ease.

In the river, the mud splattered Goddess gleams as water runs down the statue, clearing away any debris.

“I think that’s enough,” the woman says, although making no move to lower her dress.

Emma sets the bucket down, looking at tanned legs that stand in the middle of a muddy puddle. No matter how many times she washes the stranger’s feet, she will still walk amongst the mud and get dirty again. She isn’t so selfish to keep the woman here, and interacting with this attraction for longer than necessary spells out trouble Emma can’t afford. “Wait,” Emma says softly, picking one of the woman’s feet up to rest against her thigh, washing off the mud again before removing her tunic to wipe the water away. The laces of her boots are undone, pulled off her feet to be instead offered to the stranger who laughs airily.

One foot slotted into Emma’s boot, the Princess repeats the process on the woman’s other leg, sliding her dry foot into the remaining boot before standing up. “You have no water, no tunic, and no boots,” she says, her voice a melody that Emma sways to.

“I have the blessings of my Goddess, and I will have more than enough when she comes down to marry me,” Emma responds, her chin tilted upwards in a show of defiance against the words of those who do not believe. The laughter of this strange woman makes Emma itch, to defend something that doesn’t need sharp words or the blunt end of her sword.

Gentle fingers run down Emma’s cheek, the Princess’s eyes drifting shut, forgetting for a moment of Goddesses and promises when the woman whose face Emma cannot see touches her with the affection her mother had spoken about. “What will you give the Goddess in exchange for her hand, Princess?”

Emma’s eyes snap open at the question, standing up to pull the wet and muddied tunic over her vest. “What more do I have to give in exchange for an equal partnership?” she asks cleverly, eyes clouding over with anger as she thinks of the days spent yearning for something that might not be real. How many times had Snow told her that being in love with an idea is not the same as what the person themselves might be?

The woman shakes her head, brown hair shifting as she steps back. That was the wrong answer apparently, because Emma is left standing in a puddle of mud with no boots and an empty bucket, her voice catching when she calls out, “You tell me then!”

She stops, turning toward Emma with only the side of her face visible, the beauty there having Emma’s breath escape her lips in a gasp. “Forget her, Princess, for the Goddess will never marry a woman willing to sacrifice everything to a stranger without keeping something to herself. It would do you good to seek another to wed, someone made of more than marble and gold, perhaps.”

“My Goddess isn’t a selfish goddess,” Emma grits out, stepping forward toward the stranger she had just helped, all sense of attraction gone as she seethes with anger.

The woman turns toward Emma fully, her plump lips and dark eyebrows pulling together in a snarl. Emma thinks she’s the most beautiful person she has ever seen, far more beautiful than the statue, far more beautiful than fields of flowers and the full moon herself. The wind knocked out of her, Emma steps back in alarm as the woman approaches, voice nothing more than a chill down the Princess’s spine. “You claim to know so much about a statue that refuses to move when your people suffer in hunger because you give everything away to those who do not need it.”

“I’d give my life in devotion to my Goddess, as much as I’d give our resources to our kingdom as they need it. Who are you to question my authority on such things when you would walk away with the Princess’s boots without voicing your gratitude?”

The woman presses too close to Emma, the smell of salt and mud assaulting her senses as she leans down to pull off the boots, tossing them behind Emma with a _ splash _ as they fall into the well. “I do hope you like fishing, Princess,” the woman hisses, turning away to swat Emma with her hair as she stomps off.

Emma growls out in frustration, her mood ruined for the day as she looks down at the well with betrayal. Muttering to herself, Emma tries to get her boots out with the pail that remains utterly useless, the water laughing at her as she considers climbing down there herself to prove a point.

In the river, the statue of the Goddess becomes muddier with each step the strange woman takes, the white of the marble turning brown.

…

“Emma!” Ruby exclaims, rushing to the Princess who stands outside the inn, her pants dripping wet and mud smeared across her skin. It’s been a few hours since she went out to get water, and Ruby had thought the child must have gotten lost in her thoughts about the Goddess again as usual—but this is a sight for sore eyes.

“Can you draw me a bath, Ruby, please?” There isn’t the usual sweetness in her voice that accompanies her. Ruby frowns as she takes the soaking wet boots from Emma’s hand to set them aside on the porch, grabbing a nearby towel to wrap around Emma’s shoulders.

Ruby says, “It might take a while.” For once, she fears for the wrath of the Princess whose face turns red the longer she stands there thinking about her interaction with the stranger earlier that day. If she had never offered to help, she wouldn’t be in this state, now would she? Emma swallows back a retort, trying to focus on the Goddess and whatever blessings will be bestowed upon her now, but thinking about a statue in the face of a very real woman who had the audacity to insult her is not as effective.

Perhaps, had Emma been left standing outside waiting for her water alone, then things might’ve not escalated, but apparently the Goddess seems intent on making her miserable today. “Oh dear,” a voice sounds, a laugh within the words that Emma automatically growls at. “Bad day?”

The vulgar words that the Princess has never used sits at the tip of her tongue when the strange woman floats down the stairs, standing in the doorway to the inn with a cup of tea in her hands. She takes a sip from it purposefully, Emma’s eyes tracing the movement of her lips as she stands there framed by the light of the sun, Emma’s shadow falling beside her as if that too is discarded as the Princess it belongs to.

“No thanks to you,” Emma mutters under her breath, pulling the towel closer around her shoulders to shield her very wet front. The woman’s eyes linger on Emma’s chest a little too long to be anything but judging, her dark eyes two black coals that burn with the weight of something Emma refuses to name.

She sips from her cup, leaning against the doorway where Emma’s shadow shields her from the sun, black knitted shawl slipping from her shoulder as she continues to stare. Emma shifts, uncomfortable with the attention in a space she finds herself unable to move from; stuck between running out in the dirt again or waiting for her bath whilst Ruby heats up her water. She supposes there can be conversation made, even if she dislikes the beautiful stranger almost as much as she is devoted to the Goddess.

“What is your name?” Emma eventually asks, fed up with the silence and scrutinising gaze.

The woman smiles. “Why, a name is a valuable thing indeed, something too valuable to give to a stranger.” Emma scoffs at that, folding her arms over her chest. The woman seems content to let them stand in silence, but Emma’s pout must be adorable enough that she shifts from the doorway to push into the porch, warm fingers running over Emma’s lips without permission.

Emma shifts back, eyes flashing dangerously.

“What will you give me in exchange for my name?” she asks, pulling her hand back to wrap around her cup. It’s the same question asked in a different way, the exchange of something that Emma doesn’t understand.

Wet, cold, and humiliated, Emma doesn’t think before she speaks. It’s the opposite of the teachings she had been subjected to in her youth when she rudely answers the woman, the words rolling off her tongue in a hiss. “Why, the use of it, of course.”

There’s silence for a few long moments, Emma stunned at the reaction a stranger could elicit out of her. Her cheeks colour red, the woman bursting into laughter as she reaches out for Emma again, her fingertips stroking along her heated cheek. “Regina,” she says finally, her eyes kind as she retracts her touch.

Too warm, Emma sways on the spot, following the touch as it moves away. Afraid for some reason, the name sits on the tip of her tongue, curling back into her mouth when she tries to speak it. She doesn’t know why, but the distinct feeling of receiving a gift sits in her chest with the name.

“Your water is ready, Princess,” Ruby interrupts, the title heavy between them. Emma startles at the call, swallowing thickly as she moves past Regina, eyes downcast and her breath shallow when her bare arm brushes against Regina’s.

“Is she always like this?” Emma hears, pausing her steps as she eavesdrops on a conversation not meant to be heard.

Ruby sighs, adjusting a clean towel over her arm. “The Princess is a guest here,” Ruby says dutifully, her back stiff and posture rigid from where Emma can see, “it is not my place to discuss such things.”

Regina eyes Ruby, assessing her with dark eyes that smile despite the downturn of her mouth. “I understand,” she says softly. Still leaning against the doorway, her gaze shifts from Ruby to where Emma stands a voyeur. When Regina’s lips pull up into a smirk, Emma gasps, her eyes widening when she’s caught out with a playfulness that should not belong to an adult. Such sins are punished severely at the palace, but Regina only presses her lips together, her gaze swimming with mischief that makes Emma duck away, her socks skidding on the flooring as she speed-walks to the bathing chamber.

:::

The girl is stunning, that much Regina will give her. She’s devoted to a statue, to an idea of something that Regina herself does not represent, but Emma had asked her for a chance to prove herself worthy, and what Goddess refuses such a plea. 

Ruby has invited her downstairs for supper with a kindness that Regina hasn’t received in a long time. Inns such as this usually house too many people, the bar overflowing and food splattered across tables that are packed to capacity. Here, in this inn that’s more of a house, Regina accepts the invitation with grace. “Will the Princess be joining us?” she can’t help but ask—because Emma might come here every month, but Regina is a stranger in more ways than one, and Emma might be suspicious of her more than familiar after their interaction earlier.

Ruby nibbles on her lower lip, still suspicious after Regina’s questioning a few hours earlier, but she nods her head stiffly and continues to play the perfect hostess. Regina wants to tell her how much she resembles her grandmother, how loyalty runs in the family up until now. But Regina doesn’t open her mouth, doesn’t do more than close her room door behind her as she follows Ruby into the dining room.

“I am glad you could join us,” Emma says from where she sits, capturing Regina’s attention from the antique furniture and large fireplace built into the wall. Her hair is still damp and her skin is flushed a lovely shade of pink from her bath. She seems happier, as if her annoyance has been washed away as easily as the mud that clung to her hands. 

Regina offers her a tight lipped smile, taking the seat opposite Emma where she can see the Princess without any obstruction. Such pretty things _ should _ be admired. “Well, Ruby invited me, and I couldn’t refuse my host.” When Regina relaxes her smile, dark and seductive, Emma averts her eyes like a married woman. A part of her is pleased, and another larger part is offended at the insult. Emma had asked her to come, but she refuses to see beyond marble and gold that holds too much of Regina, and yet nothing at all.

Ruby scoffs, her eyes rolling skyward at the exchange that must look pathetic to an outsider. “So,” Ruby tries, dishing out a helping of mashed potatoes, “where are you from, Regina?”

The use of her name makes her look toward Ruby sharply, eyes narrowing in anger when the gift was meant for Emma’s ears alone. The question of where she’s from, the ones following of what she’s doing here, if she knows this person or that—Regina knows everything that will tumble from Ruby’s mouth, she knows her nature and thoughts as well as any Goddess—it makes her angry enough to sit back, the river swelling with her fury.

“Perhaps,” she hears, quiet and thoughtful, “such information is not important.” Regina can feel Ruby’s argument, the defence that will tumble from her lips without thought for Emma’s title, but Emma smiles widely, dishing out a leg of lamb that she eyes with anticipation. “What is important is this food. I’m starving.”

Emma’s earlier nervousness around her is gone, replaced by a kinship that she hasn’t yet earned. “Yes,” Regina agrees, knife and fork in her hand as she gazes upon the Princess with fondness, “the food looks delicious.” Ruby beams, her questions dropped as Emma engages her in conversation about her cooking.

Regina eats delicately, the setting sun in the background a reminder of Emma’s journey that she will take soon enough. Perhaps the Princess has not yet proved her worth, but Regina can see _ potential _. That’s more than enough, she thinks, her foot stretching to bump into Emma’s leg, the contact warm enough to make the Princess jump in her seat. It’s been so long since she’s allowed herself to play, that Regina can’t help but let her toes run up Emma’s ankle, her lips pressing together to hide a smile.

Emma’s eyes widen, her foot shifting back to allow her to look down. “What is it?” Regina innocently asks, her legs crossed at the ankles and far away from Emma’s.

There’s a pause, where the Princess frowns at Regina’s foot, no doubt noticing the anklets that adorn her, the way they peek out from under her long dress. “Nothing,” Emma denies, pulling her chair forward to continue eating. Regina allows her to finish her meal, to dig into a vanilla cake and sip at her tea; and then she starts again.

It’s innocent really, that Regina should cross her legs and allow her foot to graze Emma’s calf, but Emma’s reaction is priceless, like this is affecting her more than it should. Is the Princess so touch-starved that such a simple thing might make her pink in the face? “Are you sure you are alright, dear?” Regina asks, lowering her voice to a purr that turns Emma’s cheeks red.

“Maybe,” Ruby says, a hand encasing Emma’s own, “you should rest before you have to leave.”

Emma has finished her food, she has no chores to attend to, but yet, the Princess’s questioning gaze strays to Regina. If only she knew, Regina thinks to herself, that the Goddess she is preparing to visit sits before her now, sharing a meal with her, trying to seduce her—the thought makes Regina grin. Such a foolish child, one who would focus on the intangible instead of the present and the people within it.

“…of the village?”

Regina stares at Emma blankly. “Pardon?”

Emma smiles at her with hope and amusement. She asks again, “Would you like a tour of the village before I leave?”

Huh. The offer is unexpected, and Regina eyes the Princess with a hint of interest as she slowly inches toward the test that Regina has unknowingly set for her. “Of course,” Regina remembers to answer, a laugh sitting in her chest.

Emma beams, nodding as if pleased with herself. “Shall we then?” A gesture to the door, and Emma stands from the table, tugging on the coat that is draped over her chair.

:::

Guilt perhaps, was what made Emma ask Regina to accompany her on a walk. It’s a thing only romantics and lovers would offer, but Emma had spoken so rudely to Regina before, that if she has to apologise now, Emma would prefer it away from Ruby’s ears.

Her hands sway back and forth, her fingers occasionally brushing against Regina’s. The butterflies in her stomach, the warmth that spreads from a simple touch—it shouldn’t affect Emma so, but she swallows nervously and prays to the Goddess for help.

Regina smirks, holding back a laugh that settles in her cheeks, the colour rosy and full. “Something the matter, Princess?” she asks, shocking Emma back to reality where the market stands empty and barren.

“N-no,” Emma denies, crossing her arms over her chest to prevent any more accidental hand brushes. “This is the market. It is usually brimming with activity, but the locals prefer to sell when the sun is still in the sky.” Regina purses her lips, nodding in understanding as Emma leads her to the other side. The well is visible from here, and the river just beyond that, but Emma can’t possibly drag Regina all the way out there because she’s eager to start her journey. “And,” she continues, turning sharply toward the rowdy tavern, where music wafts up to the heavens with the smoke from the ovens, and ale is as cheap as dirt, “this is The Singing Whale.”

An unimpressed eyebrow raise is all she receives in response, but Emma is young enough to enjoy such meaningless celebrations. Her spirits lifted, and her crossed hands unwinding from each other to grab onto Regina’s arm instead, Emma promises, “It will be fun.” She shouldn’t be this familiar with a woman she finds so beautiful, but Emma can’t help herself when her fingers slip down to clasp around Regina’s wrist, tugging them toward the tavern where temptation seductively beckons the pair. 

“Alright,” Regina agrees, a grin on her face and humour twinkling in her eyes once again. Emma wonders what she finds so amusing, but Regina doesn’t give her a chance to ask before they’re plunged into the tavern with singing men and women, ale flowing freely and food dished out to those with enough coin.

…

The establishment is common—Regina knows as much about mortals and their need to find joy in song and dance—but this place sparkles with magic. She feels the shift as soon as she walks in, Emma’s hand still on her wrist and the water flowing through the tavern _ hers _ enough to know where it comes from. Regina licks her lips, casting a disinterested glance around the groups of men and women who cannot stop laughing, as if they too hear the prayers Emma sends to a Goddess about a strange woman making her feel hot and bothered.

_Give me strength_, Regina hears, Emma’s hand clammy in her own, her grip loose but strong enough that Regina has to gently pry her wrist away. The girl is amusing, and so easily swayed by her emotions—the fact that she travels to a river that becomes less accessible each year should be telling enough. “Ale?” Emma asks, wiping her hands down on her trousers. Regina nods, waving Emma off as she goes in search of a place to sit that isn’t sticky.

There are eyes on her, mortals drawn to her beauty that isn’t shaped in the sculpture that sits in the river, and Regina readies herself to flee or fight when a jug of ale is placed on the table in front of her. The Princess pours the liquid into two cups, and the eyes avert themselves with the assumption that Regina is already taken. The thought makes her surprisingly warm. “I washed them myself,” Emma says, like the cleanliness of this place is what makes Regina uneasy.

“Do you always partake in such menial chores?” Regina asks, sipping from the ale that is heavenly. It doesn’t taste as bitter as she had imagined, and the touch of fruit that lingers on the aftertaste soothes the burn that makes it way down her stomach. It’s been so long since she indulged in such frivolities.

Emma sits down heavily beside her, expelling a sigh. “Yes,” she answers simply, with a confidence that should not belong to a Princess. The acceptance of being more than a title startles Regina, the way Emma smiles at her with knowing and sips her drink, _ forgive my impurity today _, whispered in her ear. Pure of thoughts, heart, body, and soul. Emma has made sure to remain devoted to her. But this time, with a marriage proposal weighing her down and a strange woman turning up at the inn…

Emma has never been purer, Regina thinks.

“I stopped Ruby’s questioning, but it isn’t often this village gets visitors.” The question is insinuated, but the Princess isn’t brave enough to anger Regina. For someone who is so quick with a sword, Emma has proven herself more than once to be gentle.

“Are you asking me why I am here?” Regina teases, pouring herself another cup of ale as Emma’s cheeks darken with a blush. She wants to run her fingers down Emma’s face, to touch what has been claimed as hers with the water that runs through this village, but Emma has already ducked away from her hands too many times for Regina to try again.

Clearing her throat, her eyes darting down to her ale that isn’t sipped from, Emma clamps her teeth down on her bottom lip and looks up at Regina through her lashes. Regina catches the movement, a wink thrown in the direction of the Princess who blushes all over again. “Yes,” Emma rasps, “I want to know why you are here.”

_ Ah _, the Princess finally draws her sword. Regina sips from her cup, stretching her neck to catch Emma’s attention—and it works, for Emma’s eyes linger on the curve of her throat, the way her tongue swipes at her bottom lip to catch the ale that clings there. This is power at its finest, where the devotee must prove themselves unwavering in an impossible test. Emma has failed too many times, yet she continues to cling to a River Goddess despite someone real sitting next to her. At this point, when Emma breathes heavily with lust in her eyes, Regina isn’t sure if she wants Emma to succeed.

“I came for you,” Regina purrs, and Emma’s eyes snap up to meet hers in alarm. “I hear you climb the mountain every full moon to meet a statue—”

“The Goddess,” Emma corrects with a growl, leaning forward into Regina’s space as if she has no right to talk about herself that way. What a poor fool.

She smirks, gaze dropping down to Emma’s lips that are twisted in anger, to her hands that twitch with the need to take action. “I wanted to see it for myself,” Regina continues, brushing over Emma’s words as if she were never interrupted in the first place. The devotion, the unflinching belief Emma has in her makes the Goddess in her ache. And to be anyone else who might yearn for such devotion—where Regina finds herself now—is agony. Swallowing down the thoughts that plague her, Regina knocks back the ale and stands, her hand outstretched to Emma who looks at the offending limb as if it might bite her.

Tonight, Regina wants to live, and if Emma is stubborn and clinging onto an ideal, then Regina doesn’t have to force herself to adhere to the prayer attached to the yellow ribbon.

…

The music is peppy and loud, filtered through drunken laughter as Emma drinks too much ale. The full moon means observing silence, taking in the surroundings without being a part of them, and then beginning a journey that she should have completed by now.

Here, with Regina’s hand in hers and their bodies achingly close, Emma breaks free from a Goddess and a river that can’t give her this. They cannot provide large smiles that accompany low laughter, the curve of a hip where Emma’s hand rests, the warmth of an affectionate touch that strokes along her jaw—Mother was right, she is her father’s daughter, and she wants more than a cool, detached touch.

She wants _ Regina _.

“Oh Goddess,” Emma whispers, breaking from Regina’s hold to stumble her way outside. The air is brisk, the fields illuminated with the light from the moon, and Emma should have left a long time ago, but Regina is a strange woman wrapped up in silks and velvets, and Emma is weak for her in a way she hasn’t been for any woman before.

“Princess,” Regina calls breathily, and Emma can hear the smile in her voice before she approaches. One would think they were lovers, with the way Regina touches her so freely, how her hands settle on Emma’s shoulders and turn her to face each other. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it’s the ale, maybe it’s the feeling of familiarity with Regina that makes Emma crack, but for someone who prides herself on devotion, Emma leans into the touch like she’s starved. Her eyes close and her breath escapes her with a silent plea. She can’t help but ask, because a marriage is needed and a statue might be nothing more than that, “Do you feel for me?”

In truth, Regina has never felt more alive than she has today. She has fought and flirted, and danced with the Princess, and for years she has been watching the girl come to her, but today… “I do,” slips from her lips like water down a ravine, filling the space with a current that makes her more mortal than it has in years. “Stay with me,” Regina pleads, hands on Emma’s cheeks as she pulls her too close.

Emma doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t do more than clutch onto Regina, her eyes still closed. Regina’s heart races in her chest, the feeling foreign enough to be forgotten and felt for the first time. It’s been thousands of years since she was bound to that statue, forever cursed to wander the mountain until someone with enough love for her in their hearts uttered her name. Emma still grasps onto her name like a gift, too afraid to say it when all their problems could dissolve if she just—

“I have to go,” Emma whispers, pulling back from the makeshift embrace. “I—there’s a mountain, and it’s dark, and…”

“And?” Regina probes, hoping and praying to the other Gods who laugh at her predicament.

Shaking her head as if to rid herself of a fog, Emma pushes Regina away, her eyes wide and seeing, her thoughts racing from here to there with guilt that sets Regina’s hopes on fire. “I must ask the Goddess to marry me,” she says evenly, and if the stench of ale did not linger on Emma’s breath, she would have thought the Princess to be sober. “I cannot—” her hand gestures to Regina, omitting the word that never makes it past Emma’s clenched teeth, “—you.”

Any argument in her favour is cut short when Emma turns away from her, dismissing Regina in favour of the Goddess. It shouldn’t hurt to watch Emma run back to the inn, where the word _ love _ remains unused but implied enough that Regina can almost snatch it from the air between them—but it does, and Regina berates herself for hoping it wouldn't. 

“Foolish girl,” she says around a lump in her throat, speaking both to herself and Emma as she picks up her skirts to follow the Princess into the inn.

:::

Emma knows why she’s angry, why she’s irritable at every little thing, but she isn’t beastly enough to take it out on the person who makes her feel alive. It’s only been a few hours, and Emma can write it off as a fleeting infatuation that will fall away once she makes it to the River Goddess. Now if only the damn tarp will fit into her satchel!

“Why me?” she asks, face tilted upwards toward the heavens where her Goddess must be laughing at her. Perhaps this isn’t the Goddess’s doing at all, but an evil force that has somehow taken root here to thwart Emma’s plans to marry the one she worships.

Taking a deep breath, slow and measured, Emma tries again, her lips tugging up into a triumphant smile when the tarp manages to squash into the tiny space she provides for it. “That is not very practical, now is it?” comes the question, that silky voice drawing Emma’s eyes to the doorway where Regina stands, head cocked to one side and arms crossed over her chest.

She wants to argue this, to rage and throw words at a woman who shouldn’t matter, but Emma reminds herself of her mission and stares the devil down with a smug quirk of her brow. “It will hold,” she answers, “I have done this more times than you can count.” Maybe she’s stretching it a bit, adding too many numbers for an effect that is wasted here, but Emma’s arrogance is short-lived, and a ripping sound makes her widen her eyes in alarm.

Regina purses her lips, mischief in her eyes as she nods toward the satchel. Emma knows the sight of walls being drawn up when she sees it. “Is that how it is supposed to hold?” Regina asks with a laugh, her teeth on full display as she watches Emma’s plight, how she fumbles for her satchel that has torn in half. That _ demon _.

Made from the finest of fabrics and stitched by the hands of the most masterful of tailors, her satchel has never seen a hole before let alone torn in half. “You did this!” Emma hisses, rounding on Regina who looks too smug, too invested in Emma’s travels to be anyone with good intentions.

“Oh?” Regina asks, her smile simmering down into something dangerous, like a still lake that houses too many secrets. She says, “I have been standing here the entire time,” and the phrase makes Emma pause, because outside with the moon as their witness, Emma had confessed with a question of feelings and desires that go against all her beliefs.

Drawn to her, Emma steps close, close enough that she can smell Regina’s perfume; incense and salt, like she’s been dipped in the ocean and worshipped for centuries. It makes Emma’s stomach clench, her gaze straying from one feature to the next until she has Regina’s face mapped out. “I do not trust you,” she whispers, because Regina is a mystery, an unknown that had showed up at the most inconvenient of times with her smug smirks, and lingering gazes that have already burned Emma from the inside out. She’s been worshipping the Goddess in the river for too long to be distracted by a common woman in only a day. It makes Emma throb, makes her distrust everything when her emotions for Regina and the Goddess are too similar to distinguish.

Sidestepping Regina to go in search of a satchel Ruby might have hidden somewhere, Emma stops short when her arm is caught in a strong grip. “You should not venture out to the river, Princess. I hear the banks have collapsed, and the current is high. It would do you good to remain here until the river calms.”

To anyone else, it might sound affectionate—fond and concerned even, but Emma eyes Regina with suspicion. “You would keep me from my Goddess?” she hisses on instinct, teeth baring themselves in an anger she wishes Ruby not to see. If Emma has to snap at the older woman again today, there might not be any friendliness of theirs to salvage. It’s been a few hours, but Ruby has finally stopped addressing her as Princess.

“My Goddess _ this _ , my Goddess _ that _!” Regina spits, just as angry as Emma, just as red faced as the devil himself. “Do you not care for your own well-being? Do you not worry after your kingdom if you chase this foolish dream of yours?”

Regina’s voice is low and warning, like she’s aware of something Emma isn’t. It grates on her nerves, throws everything off balance in a world where her Goddess is everywhere and everything at once, where this desire to marry isn’t based on a wish to love someone without being rejected in turn. Deep down, in crevices of her devotion, Emma has her own doubts, but she won’t allow it to be voiced by a woman who is—

Who is…?

“You do not know me,” she manages to breathe out, too close to Regina, her arm pressed against the other woman’s chest, Regina’s grip on her elbow still tight enough to bruise. “You do not know what it is like to _ ache _ for something. To sacrifice everything for a mere feeling. It is the height of devotion, to wait and _ wait _ to see what the water gives.” One day, Emma reminds herself, it’s only been one day of having Regina around, and yet whatever demon she may be, Emma is unravelling at the mere touch of her. She rasps out a pathetic, “You do not know what it feels like to love the unlovable,” and maybe, for the child who does not believe in such emotion, this is as close to it as she’s going to get.

Regina swallows thickly, a stranger draped in rich fabrics that has no place here, her fingers squeezing Emma’s elbow with familiarity that doesn’t belong—and for a moment, where nothing else exists but them, Emma allows herself to fall.

“I know,” is whispered against her cheek, warm breath ghosting her jaw with the cruellest of intentions. Emma can’t help but sink into this awkward embrace, her eyes closing as Regina presses against her, all rage and lust and things too serious to entertain. Regina rasps, “I know more than you think,” in a tone that Emma recognises but cannot place, holding her there with a promise of more than marble and gold.

This should be cheating, the most impure of things, but Regina rests her forehead against Emma’s, and thoughts of a Goddess slip from her when faced with someone made of flesh and blood. Emma says, “Let me go,” in a whisper, because this is what a Princess should do, this is what a taken woman would say—and Regina complies. Just like that, without a squeak of protest as her fingers slip from Emma’s elbow. There are words that could be said, questions that could be asked, but all Emma does is avert her gaze and storm off in the opposite direction.

Once she has a satchel, Emma promises herself, swiping at the tears that blur her vision, she can set off toward the river and leave this temptation behind.

…

Satchel on her back, a flask of water Ruby had given her in hand, and Emma silently trudges her way down the hill toward the foot of the mountain. The Earth is wet, and mud splatters on her pants when she picks up her pace, but there are bigger things than mud that Emma worries about.

She worries about the deal struck with her mother, about the statue that might not be a Goddess at all, and _ Regina _. What’s upsetting isn’t Regina’s intentions toward her, but rather Emma berates herself for falling so quickly into the arms of someone warm. How could she be so weak to stray from the Goddess before she’s even proposed this marriage? How could she feel so much for a stranger who shifts her moods as easily as the winds? “Goddess,” Emma croaks out to the moon, “how could you allow this to happen?”

“You asked!”

The shout makes Emma pause, her hands on the straps of her satchel that she had packed properly this time, the wind carrying her sigh away without remorse for her frustration. The lump in her throat refuses to budge, and the shine of her eyes cannot be disguised. “Go back to the inn, Regina!” she shouts over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

For a second, Emma thinks Regina might’ve left, but when she finally turns, Emma finds Regina standing out in the open, her long dark hair dancing in the wind. The skirt of her dress ripples, outlining the shape of her legs that remain rooted to the spot, her hand outstretched as if to call Emma back. The sight makes her heart pang, like Emma might be leaving something precious behind to go searching for something that doesn’t matter.

“You asked!” Regina yells, her neck straining with the words, her voice breaking and crackling with unshed tears. “I feel for you, Princess—you have made me feel for you!”

For gold, for a title, for all the things that accompany Emma, perhaps. There’s a clear choice, because on one side is a Goddess that Emma doubts, and on the other is a woman made from flesh and bone who Emma knows nothing about. Tomorrow, should she take Regina to the palace and announce her to her parents, would that make her happy?

“I have a journey,” she rasps, walking toward Regina until she doesn’t have to scream anymore, until Regina’s face is clear again and her windswept hair tries to caress Emma’s face with each passing breeze. “Let me go,” she repeats, “for me.”

Regina’s lips press together in a snarl, her chin creasing with the effort to hold back a million words that might break everything. When she remains silent, her hands clasped at her sides and dark eyes watching Emma step back, it almost feels as if she had gained a blessing from someone who sits on equal footing with the Goddess.

… 

Gone. Down the hill, up the mountain, across the river bank. Regina knows that the Princess is devoted, that she has passed every test set in her path to break the curse that keeps Regina’s spirit trapped in that statue. But the Princess does not love _ her _, and the heartbreak Regina knows she will experience when Emma reveals her true nature will be devastating.

The dark sky is clear tonight, and Regina is visible amongst the tall grass when the villagers look toward the mountain, Emma’s pale skin and golden hair shining like a light in the distance, climbing up the mountain that groans with the added weight. “I did not mean to stop her,” she tells the woman that stands beside her, a sympathetic hand on her shoulder that Regina does not remove.

Ruby exhales, patting Regina’s arm like she too has been here with someone else, but Regina hasn’t got the patience to indulge in the histories of romances lost and buried. “Devotion like that cannot be given away so freely,” Ruby says, pausing Regina’s escape with a tightening grip, “she has been visiting the Goddess for almost three summers now, and to disregard such emotion for someone she has only met today…” Regina swallows thickly at Ruby’s words, knowing how true they are, yet the unwavering hurt never leaves her throat.

“To believe in a sculpture is foolish,” Regina spits out, “I am real and _ here _. Is this not what the Princess wanted?” Ruby cannot know of the prayer she clutches onto, of the yellow ribbon that forms in her hand and dangles from her fingertips. She may be a Goddess of the river, chasing the current and swelling with pride, but Regina doesn’t know what she wants to be beyond the statue that holds her captive—and yet, Ruby looks at her with knowing, her nose twitching and eyes crinkling with a smile.

Ruby asks, “Is it?” and Regina chokes back a laugh. “Maybe it isn’t the Princess who has to prove herself worthy. The evidence of her devotion is before you now,” Ruby absently waves a hand towards the Princess who disappears behind the thicket of trees covering the lower region of the mountain, “and she has shunned the temptation of a warm body that she had almost succumbed to.”

If Regina turns her face to the sky, then it isn’t to hide a blush at being caught out trying to seduce Emma, but rather the helplessness she feels at being put in a situation that even a Goddess cannot fathom. “Must I prove myself better than a Goddess? Must I climb mountains for a Princess who doesn’t even _ want _ me?”

Angry, and bitter, and so, so confused, Regina growls at Ruby; a Goddess against a werewolf that have both forgotten who they are. “Do _ you _ have something to prove?” Ruby probes, her question making Regina reel back, her eyes wide and that yellow ribbon being crushed in her grip.

Does she? Regina asks herself, glancing back at the mountain where Emma can no longer be seen, the villagers all gone back to their tasks to leave Regina standing there, staring at nothing. “Maybe,” she whispers, the sound soft and uncertain, that yellow ribbon pulled up to her lips where the prayer Emma put there can still be heard. “Maybe,” she repeats a little louder, shoulders pulled back and a determined glint in her eyes.

When she walks toward the mountain, Regina knows that both she and the Goddess have more than enough to prove.

:::

On a normal month, the journey takes two candle notches if Emma keeps up her pace, but it’s dark out already and Emma has only just begun. Hiking up a mountain is not an easy feat, but the monthly practice is enough for Emma to know how to take on the challenge—where to step, what path to avoid, how to ignore the cuts on her arms when she falls into a thornbush. This time however, things seem different, and Emma fumbles her way up the mountain with a path that seems thinner than usual—or perhaps, this might be a consequence of too much ale.

“I know you are punishing me,” she breathes out harshly, feeling her way around the mountain face as the dirt path begins to fade into rocky terrain, “but I did not indulge—no matter how tempting, I did not stray.” She believes herself righteous when she says this to the heavens, using a boulder to heave herself up onto the flat rock. No matter how many times she has thought of Regina as beautiful, no matter the ale in her system and the anger that plagues her now, Emma did not fall into such warmth. The Goddess will understand, she _ has _ to.

With the prayer in her throat and the sound of water rushing down a path, Emma coughs out a grateful laugh when she finally reaches the mouth of river. It’s wide, flanked by reeds that grow proud and tall, the water clear with only the odd rock poking out of its surface. If something shifts beneath, haunting and mysterious, Emma doesn't notice anything amiss, her eyes only on the Goddess that's still quite a climb away.

For every moon since she’s started this journey, Emma has stopped here to pay homage to the river, taking her time to appreciate her surroundings for an hour or two before continuing on her way. But she's late, and the river shines black under the darkness that makes Emma uneasy. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, hands running along the reeds as she walks, “I cannot pause here today.” 

The river never answers, but it ripples with something Emma ignores, the gleam of scales and betrayal shimmering under the stars that weep for their daughter. 

“_ Mine _,” the wind hisses. 

“_ Ours _,” the water growls. 

Emma hesitates, straining her ears for a whisper she's not entirely sure she heard. “Hello?” Her call echoes, dancing through the reeds as Emma pushes her way through to chase it. “Is anyone there?” The reeds part for her, an eerie welcome that makes her skin crawl. 

Taking a step forward to peer at the river, Emma frowns when she finds it absolutely still. Unconvinced, she draws her sword carefully, her steps light as she tracks her way closer to the water. There's something here, and Emma is trained enough not to ignore her instincts. 

She observes her surroundings, sword held at her side as she creeps closer to the river where the whispering becomes hurried—an argument with too many voices for Emma to distinguish, like parents fighting over a child that should not be aware of any strife. The edge of her sword drags against the sand when she crouches too low, the blade cutting through an invisible argument that stops. And then there is only silence.

“I hate the dark,” Emma whispers, stepping onto the riverbank with a frown. A trick of her ale riddled mind, she manages to convince herself, sheathing her sword with an ease that allows her to miss the wet hand reaching out from the water, clawing at the clay that comes loose under her muddied boots.

At first, there is nothing. And then the shock of cold wraps its way around Emma’s torso, holding onto her with a strength that water should not have. She kicks on instinct, hands cupping the water to push up for air. Emma was born with pride, a filthy thing that has long since taken root in her system to form itself as a need to do everything on her own. Drowning, with nothing to take purchase of as Emma tries to grasp onto something stable, she still does not scream. The satchel is first to go, her legs kicking wildly as the water pulls her under with ill intent, taking its dues from a Princess who wants too much from it. The sword is next, falling down onto the riverbed with a loss that Emma cannot afford to mourn.

She wants to ask what other sacrifice must be made, but when Emma breaks the surface of the water again, air burning its way down her lungs, Emma _ screams _.

“H-help!” she cries, forsaking pride and the sins in her system. “Anyone!” she calls, ridding herself of her title that sinks with her sword. “Re—” _ No _ . Of all the names and all the people, Emma’s last call will not be made to a woman she should despise. The name sits in her chest, pushed out to make way for an animalistic yell that frightens the birds in the trees, making their flight the last thing Emma sees before the water drags her down, down, _ down _.

Her ears plug with a deafening silence, cutting off the sounds from outside that never mattered anyways—not marriages to royals, not a statue she clings onto, not Regina who has been a curse today. This is enough, she thinks, to be alone where love and rejection are unimportant. It’s so nice here, peaceful, and pure. Emma wishes she could stay here forever, to float away to a place just like this.

“If you wish to be alone,” she hears, the voice making her eyes fly open, the muscles in her back tensing with each passing second, “then why would you come all this way to visit me?”

Emma doesn’t have the strength to _ breathe _, to do anything more that carefully look up through the water, air bubbles obscuring her vision as she gives the last of her breath away. She’s imagining things, Emma is sure—the healer back home had said stress could make the most stable of people wobble, and any other explanation seems too far fetched for her to believe.

Equal parts afraid and in awe, she whispers in question, “Goddess?” her voice sounding strained.

There, floating in the water opposite her, is the Goddess in all her glory. She moves like a human, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her eyelashes fluttering with each blink—but she is still made of marble and gold, her limbs stiff and clothing painted on. It’s more than Emma had wanted, and it’s more than she could ever ask for. “Are you surprised?” The Goddess asks, her voice a garbled mess that sounds nothing like Regina’s smooth drawl. Emma doesn’t know why that should be a point of complaint, why such things must be compared when her prayers are being answered.

“I—” The words stick in her throat, and Emma’s bottom lip trembles as she tentatively reaches out to _ touch _. In all her fantasies, Emma hadn’t prepared herself for this meeting to feel so overwhelming. At most, it had been daydreams of winning the Goddess over with her bravery and witty remarks, where Emma saw herself as confident in her armour battling off faceless woes. Never had she envisioned meeting the Goddess in her moment of defeat, where she can’t scream or kick or swim anymore.

Perhaps, this is the only way to meet an immortal, where Emma finds herself stripped of all expectations and sits instead with very mortal desires that have her _ hesitate _. Her fingers hover too close to the Goddess’s cheek, her body floating closer to The Being without allowing herself to fully touch. The fear of this meeting ending if she shatters this illusion is greater than being labelled a madwoman. A few more minutes, she tells herself, staring blankly at the Goddess, her words all jumbled up inside her head and her body pulsing with an energy that she cannot name.

“My greatest devotee,” the Goddess purrs, the sound like bubbles being blown underwater, a tail swishing behind her as strange hands pull her down still, “tongue-tied? Is there nothing you wish to say?” Emma recognises the taunt, how the Goddess’s marble lips quirk upwards in a smirk, how her arms are slightly outstretched, her body moving too close to Emma who burns at the proximity between them.

She can feel the tears, the show of weakness that trickles down her cheeks and disappear in the water without thought for her pride. Emma hasn’t gone to the statue yet, she hasn’t kept her thoughts pure today, but all notions of being deserving of this visit are thrown out the window when Emma leans in too close. “Marry me,” Emma mouths, her words silent in the water, her vision sporting black dots that grow larger the longer she tries to speak. She must look so pathetic.

The Goddess smiles, a stretch of her lips that’s knowing. “Why?” comes the question, expectation weighing too heavily on it, an answer Emma is too afraid to voice.

This time, when a sob rips through her and Emma reaches out once more to touch, she doesn’t stop until her hands slide down the marble of the Goddess’s shoulders, gliding down toward her hands that bend around Emma’s fingers. She feels slimy to the touch, like she’s lived here for too long and isn’t the Goddess at all. “Your n-name?” Emma asks with difficulty, exhaling the last of her air with a question that sounds too raw. This isn’t what she had planned to ask, but the Goddess isn’t the only one holding her, and the whisperings begin again—harsh, desperate, a plea for Emma to fight. She wants to whisper back, to ask for more time, because the answer feels important, and yet the Goddess cannot seem to find an appropriate one.

Emma’s eyes widen, and the marble of the Goddess shifts. Holding her down is not her Goddess, but an imitator that’s made from scales and skin; her eyes are a brilliant blue, her skin transparent in places where scales do not cover, and her lips pucker to reveal two rows of teeth like the jaws of sharks displayed at exotic markets. The sight makes Emma kick, her hands pushing the siren away to try an escape a grip that becomes tighter still.

“Tell me, Princess,” the siren demands, her arms wrapping around Emma’s form to pull her impossibly closer. Emma can feel the water rushing into her lungs, can hear a familiar laugh in her ear as the siren shifts again, Regina’s cruel eyes holding a hint of mischief that makes Emma’s heart ache. “_ Tell me _!”

A _ gasp _. A spluttering, wheezing gasp, and Emma is pulled up from the water in shock.

“Princess! What were you thinking?!” A practiced hand slaps her back, murky water spewing out with each cough Emma makes.

She doesn’t have the time to respond, her lungs burning as they expel the water that had made its way in there. Her body aches, her throat feels raw, and everything she wants to scream out remains trapped in her sobs that have her shaking from both anger and cold. “_ G-Goddess _!” she cries, clutching onto her chest, her devotion broken and drowned, replaced instead by an attraction to a woman even the river is confident enough to use. The thought of diving back into the water to end this misery is enough for Emma to collapse onto the river bank, her body curling into itself as she screams in agony.

“I am here,” she hears, reassuring and forgiving, “I am here, Princess.” But it’s Regina’s voice that soothes her, and it’s Regina’s warmth that she falls into before the world goes dark.

:::

The moon is high, singing to the river that chases the song with a strengthening current. Clumps of clay break from the riverbank, swept away with an eagerness that leaves behind naked roots, exposed and yearning for what it no longer has a hold on.

Wandering the mountain like a haunted ghost has made her blind to such occurrences; where the scenery has become dull, and the moon mocks her from where it sits, counting the days until the Princess comes to visit her with conversation about a life outside her bubble. Regina was forced to become a silent spectator to the girl who would bring her food and drink, who would blush and yearn for things Regina herself had stopped hoping for.

As an immortal Goddess trapped in marble and gold, everything had been beneath her—even the devotion of a royal who holds too much belief in a cursed form that makes Regina _ weak _ . Once, before she had given up all hope of the curse being broken, Regina remembers how the river would swell like this, how the banks would crumble, and the current would quicken. She had been so _ angry _.

Maybe Regina is a little angry now—with Emma, with herself, with the years she spent being defeated after her anger had subsided. If she hadn’t been faithless, if her world did not ache and cry for a Goddess who has lost too much, maybe Regina would have never answered a prayer that leaves her broken now.

“Silly girl,” she whispers harshly, the river rippling in response. Whether she speaks to herself or the Princess who rests under that damned tarp, Regina isn’t sure. All she is sure about is that Emma has a journey to make, and she’s stubborn enough not to let the kiss of death stop her. The thought of Emma almost drowning, the way she had begged and cried and screamed out in agony— “Silly girl,” Regina says again, louder, harsher.

The wind whips around her, caressing her cheeks that wet themselves with her tears.

“_ Why do you weep _?” the wind asks.

Regina cannot answer, her emotions a river of things that never settle long enough for her to figure it out. Still, she cries, her hands covering her face as she kneels in front of the water, a Goddess with a yellow ribbon tied around her wrist, a mortal with nothing more than a prayer to clutch onto.

“_Because_,” the river breathes, in and out, in and out, “_the_ _Goddess_ _is_ _in_ _love_.”

The wind laughs, loud and howling, pulling the trees along as they mock the river that remains a helpless spectator. Regina shakes her head, her hands plunging into the water where she roots herself, her emotions calming and current slowing down to make room for its Goddess. “_ You have not felt pain yet _,” the wind whispers in her ear, affectionate and knowing, a trail of leaves left behind on the river as it rushes away, the tarp housing the Princess rattling with complaint.

…

A breeze shifts the blanket off Emma’s shoulder, the cold touching her skin with an intimacy that she vaguely remembers. Everything feels like it’s been plunged underwater: her vision swimming, the sounds muffled, and with the Goddess sitting by the river illuminated by the moon. Emma can’t help but watch as the Goddess cups water in her hands, the sleeves of her dress darkening as the droplets run down her elbows. The breeze ruffles her long black hair, and the Goddess sighs with fondness as she pulls her hair over one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck.

The sight makes Emma’s stomach swoop, her face growing hot and chest squeezing with something that’s familiar. Licking her dry lips, she tries to reach out, to stretch her fingertips toward the Goddess who grows blurry with the effort. Her muscles ache and her throat is raw, but Emma pushes herself up on one elbow, lips moving but no words coming out—so close, but still too far away.

When her arm gives out beneath her, Emma falls back with a pained whimper. She’s foolishly used all her energy, and the blanket that’s now bunched around her waist leaves her exposed to the cold that settles atop her like an unwanted lover. It seems to be the way everything unravels lately; she will long for a Goddess who will never be hers, and things that really matter will be cast aside in favour of a dream built in the air.

She clenches her eyes closed, holding back tears that have no place here. There is no reason to cry, and yet, when the blanket is pulled up to her neck once again, chasing away the cold, Emma can’t help but choke out a sob.

“I know,” is whispered between them, settling in a space that Emma hasn’t noticed before. A flask is placed to her lips, and Emma thinks of the water in the Goddess’s hands, of the river that flows around her, of the water that is mixed into the ale at The Singing Whale. She drinks noisily, greedily taking in as much as she can get until a hand settles atop her arm, soothing her.

Emma can feel the cool liquid sliding down her throat, washing away the uneasiness in her stomach, and filtering to her muscles that do not ache as much. She doesn’t know how long she lies there, with a steady hand on her arm, and a song hummed from a woman Emma doesn’t register. But eventually, things begin to make sense, and Emma notices everything that had escaped her before.

The tarp that had ripped her beloved satchel is pitched up above her, a lantern casts an orange glow on all her belongings that are scattered across the flat rocks, and Emma can feel the sand under the blanket she sleeps on, how her skin sinks into the embrace of it—how she wears _ nothing _ underneath the blanket that covers her.

Snapping her eyes open, Emma gasps. Her throat protests, and hacking coughs shake her as she bends forward to prevent herself from choking on her own saliva. The blanket falls away again, but the hand on her arm remains steady. “Easy,” she hears, “easy now.”

Emma remembers the mimic, how their face had changed from the Goddess’s to Regina’s, how tightly they had held onto her, how they wanted her to stay. Everything feels lost, washed away by a wave of attraction that leaves a wreckage in its wake. “I failed,” she breathes, a harmless whisper that means more than Emma can ever measure. For every full moon Emma has been dedicated, and yet, for the one that matters, she’s neglected everything in favour of a woman who clutches onto her now—a woman that had saved her life.

“We can make it,” Regina tells her, pulling the blanket up to cover Emma’s chest. “The moon is still high, and if we—”

“_ We _?” Emma interrupts, pushing Regina back with a gentle hand. “I am grateful that you saved my life,” she says sternly, taking the blanket from Regina’s grip to clutch within her own, her voice raw and bruised as she holds back too many things that should be said, “but I told you…this journey is my own. You should not be here.”

The anger that grows in her chest refuses to lash out at her saviour, and instead turns inwards where Emma berates herself for a broken devotion that she isn’t sure can be pieced back together. With the blanket wrapped around her chest, Emma pushes herself up to stand on wobbly legs, Regina’s dark gaze tracking her as she walks to where her clothes are drying on the rocks. “And I told you,” Regina says from behind her, making Emma stumble as she tries to pull on her pants from underneath the blanket, “the river is dangerous tonight. You cannot possibly think of continuing your journey after you almost _ died _!”

A grunt is all Emma gives Regina in response, too busy buckling her belt to respond to Regina’s concern that makes her warm from the inside out. The ache in her limbs subsides with each passing second, and her muscles clench with the anticipation to move. Reaching for her vest, Emma stops short when Regina holds it out to her, a scowl on her face and her eyes narrowed in anger. It’s an expression she’s seen too many times on her mother’s face when her father does something incredibly stupid. And it might hit her square in the chest, that Regina truly does care for her.

“I’ve already seen everything,” Regina says harshly, “who do you think undressed you in the first place?”

Any other person might be appalled, but Emma simply drops the blanket and stands proudly in front of Regina, clad in nothing more than her leather pants and belt. She asks, “What are you really doing here?” the question too direct, too blunt. When Emma takes the vest from Regina’s hand, she slips the garment on with ease, the fabric still damp and clinging to her skin. She doesn’t bother to wear her tunic, and instead sits down onto the rock to pull on her boots that squelch uncomfortably when she sets her feet down.

Regina swallows, a humourless smile on her face that widens the longer they sit in silence. “Why do you visit the statue every full moon?”

Somehow the answer seems important, and Emma hasn’t got enough energy to correct Regina about calling the Goddess a statue again. This time, when Emma looks up at the sky, she doesn’t wonder whether the Goddess sits there, but instead, why she remains there. Her tired bones slouch, bending for her defeat as Emma closes her eyes against the sight. She whispers out an answer, aware of Regina who stands next to her. “The same reason you pulled me from the water.” And for whatever reason that might be, Emma is sure it can explain her own journey.

When she stands again, searching for her sword, Regina touches her arm to stop her. “The river took it,” she says, holding on too tightly, too long, like she might lose something Emma isn’t aware of.

“In return for my life?” Emma guesses, allowing Regina a minute of closeness that she shouldn’t give.

Regina laughs at her, her eyes sparkling with sadness instead of mischief, and the sight is enough for Emma to wither away. She eventually answers, “In return for your _ lie _,” and it’s delivered with such sharpness that Emma almost convinces herself that her sword hasn’t been taken after all.

If Emma rips her arm away and gathers what’s left of her belongings, then it isn’t to run away from the truth. There’s no point in trying to deny her lie, but if she tells Regina, “You can accompany me,” in a begrudging tone, then she most certainly can lessen her guilt about it. When Regina’s eyes light up with enough hope to chase away the sadness, Emma convinces herself that it’s only the by-product of her cowardice, and nothing more.

:::

They walk in silence, the ends of Regina’s dress trailing behind her as they climb the mountain. She can see the statue, the way it blinks under the moonlight with the magic of the curse. The statue itself is obscene, caught in a moment of weakness where Regina had been bathing in the river, her dress slipping from her shoulders and pooling around her waist, only a sliver of fabric held up to cover her breasts.

It sits in the middle of the river, cradled by a current that pulls and pushes anyone who dares come near, carrying them back to the foot of the mountain with a waterfall that grows closer each winter. Nature is a cruel Goddess, one that changes over time without anyone noticing, and unfortunately, the only company Regina has had in a long time.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Regina says, trying to make conversation with Emma who walks ahead with a stick in one hand to aid her balance, and a lantern in the other that casts a weak glow on the path Regina has walked time and time again. She herself should invest in something similar for appearance, but it would only get in her way.

Emma grunts in response, stiff and simmering with anger that Regina doesn’t understand. There isn’t any prayer echoing in Emma’s mind, no conversation made with her travel companion, and whatever has happened to Emma in the river seems to be ignored as they keep up a brisk pace. Nothing about this journey is the same as the ones previous, and it isn’t because of Regina’s presence this time. 

The mood is sombre, heavy with an inexplicable sadness that makes Regina trudge behind Emma like a petulant child. This simply won't do. 

Looking down at the river that flows without complaint, Regina presses her lips together with an idea, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she flicks her fingers toward Emma.

Water splashes on Emma’s side, a handful at most wetting her sleeve that Emma wipes away with a scowl. When she turns toward Regina with a frown, Regina snaps her gaze to the mountain and holds her hands behind her back, looking entirely too innocent for her own good. She can feel the suspicion, the prayer that sits at the tip of Emma’s tongue, but nothing comes, and Regina is left floundering again.

Another flick of water; droplets running down Emma’s cheek that are too slow in being wiped away. Emma’s lips move, a warning to Regina perhaps, but she bangs her stick on the ground to help pull her up instead, and tenses her shoulders with a strength that could crack at any given moment.

When Emma finally turns around, her arm outstretched and fingers beckoning her closer, Regina breathes out a sigh of relief. She grasps the offered hand, warm fingers sliding over her palm to hold her steady as she climbs over a fallen boulder. “Must I leave?” Regina asks softly, dropping her playfulness in the face of something far too serious.

Her hand remains clasped in Emma’s palm, the boulder behind them long forgotten as it sits on unsteady ground. Emma swallows thickly, and Regina can see the hurricane of emotions in Emma’s pained expression. “No,” Emma whispers, squeezing her eyes closed. She shakes her head, inhaling sharply as she pulls a smile up onto her lips. “I do not want you to leave,” she says, hiding her frustration behind a false politeness that Regina can see through.

Everything about Emma has been transparent thus far. It had been refreshing to be worshipped by someone so stubbornly set in who they believed themselves to be, that such blind faith had been labelled as a devotion that slips from Emma’s grasp now. “What happened?” Regina inquires, her posture rigid and her chin tilted upward like a Goddess who questions her devotee. “I was told watching you ascend this mountain was like witnessing the highest act of devotion. I had no idea the sight would be this _ disappointing _.”

“You don’t know anything!” Emma hisses, her grip on Regina’s hand tightening, the emotion that’s been building in her shoulder blades finally releasing itself. The sight of the Princess so worked up, where she leans in too close and speaks in hushed tones is incredibly arousing.

Regina’s eyes automatically drop down to Emma’s lips, a sneer on her face that’s too telling of who she really is. “Oh?” she asks, allowing affection and fondness to slide off her skin, “I know more than you think, Princess. More than you could possibly _ imagine _.” It isn’t meant to sound so seductive, but Regina angles her body toward Emma, teeth on full display as she smiles too wide, her gaze dark and heavy with lust.

Static crackles between them, and Regina knows Emma well enough that she expects a prayer to the Goddess. Regina hears nothing but Emma’s heavy breathing however, where her attraction sizzles and burns. Emma whispers on an exhale, her breath ghosting along Regina’s lips that part with anticipation. “Who are you?” bounces between them, the question so close to the truth that Regina feels a stirring of hope in her dead and broken heart. “Tell me,” Emma breathes, like she’s too afraid of the answer—like she knows what it is already.

The flimsy screen between Regina and the Goddess seems to thin, but Emma is too stubborn to budge from where she stands. Regina steps closer, just as angry as Emma now, their noses bumping together with a heated lust that mixes with their fury. She wants to yell and spew curses, to bring the wrath of a Goddess on the Princess who dares to stand as an equal to her—and hadn’t that been what Emma promised in return for her hand? An equal partnership, one that makes Regina yearn and ache for things long since forgotten.

There isn’t an appropriate response, nothing that can make Emma believe. So, when Regina surges forward, her hands in Emma’s hair pulling her impossibly closer, Regina isn’t the least bit sorry.

…

It’s frantic—with lips and teeth and tongue—and Emma clutches onto Regina’s waist like she might never let go, the lantern falling from her hand to plunge them into darkness. Prayers and thoughts of purity are discarded, drowned in the lake of kisses that leave Emma breathless. Regina steals the air from her lungs, makes her knees quiver, and sets the space between her legs on fire. It _ burns _; quickly and without permission, taking and taking until all Emma has to give is a kiss that dismantles her lie told to the river.

Regina pushes her against the rockface, demanding and handsy as she trails her fingers down over Emma’s chest. The feeling of being so focused on one thing is foreign to the Princess, where her body rules over her mind and her surroundings fade away into a blissful nothingness.

Gasping for air, Emma turns her lips away from Regina, her chest heaving and breathing laboured. It doesn’t seem to deter Regina however, not when Emma can feel a leg slipping between her thighs, and those kisses have moved to her neck where the most intense of feelings have her moaning out loud. At the mercy of lust and devotion, Emma cants her hips toward Regina’s thigh, her hands holding Regina down by her waist as she selfishly chases after her own pleasure.

A smile against her skin, smug and arrogant, makes Emma move faster. “Good girl,” is purred into her ear, a tongue coming out to trace her jaw with such sin, that Emma whimpers with want and arousal. This isn’t enough, what with their clothes in the way and the rock face digging into her back like a third party, but Emma can’t help herself. She looks up to the heavens like a child of the Gods, breathless and begging, until her soul leaves her body and her eyes roll to the back of her head with _ bliss _.

“Oh Goddess!” is moaned out, loud and bold, like a devotee who has done too much for an immortal who gifts her with too little. The stars come too close and the wind brushes against her skin too intimately, but Emma doesn’t mind. She trembles, weak kneed and satisfied, her face turning into the crook of Regina’s neck who holds her too closely.

For a moment, everything blurs together, and two people become one. Emma has never felt so whole before, put together by hands that have watched her make this climb moon after moon. She clutches onto the fabric of Regina’s dress, breathing in the scent of incense and salt as if this woman were the Goddess herself. _ Are you? _ she asks, forgetting her guilt and anger to pray to the Goddess, a habit she will never give up.

“Who do you think I am?” Regina asks, her voice vibrating against Emma’s ear that’s pressed against her neck. “Who do you wish I was?”

The question makes her pause, her body cooling down to make room for thoughts that do not revolve around lust. Her eyes widen in alarm, and Emma pushes Regina back with an undignified gasp. “I’ve failed,” is the first thing she says, the words grating on her vocal cords as she stumbles away. “Oh, Goddess, I’ve failed you.”

It was _ Regina _ she had kissed with eagerness, taking and taking without stopping to breathe. And now that she’s in control of her senses, there isn’t any excuse for reaching a height of pleasure from another woman’s leg, not when Emma had known all too well what she had been doing.

Regina reaches out to touch her, her expression saddening before Emma’s eyes. “Come now,” Regina rasps, stepping over Emma’s discarded satchel and useless stick, her tone bordering at edge of disappointment. “How can you be so blind?”

The hurt in Regina’s words makes Emma want to kiss it away again, and such feelings have no room to dwell here, but Emma breaks in the face of a woman who is more than she seems. Reaching out, her palms cupping Regina’s cheeks, Emma sighs out at the clear choice she must make. On one hand is the Goddess she has worshipped for too long, and on the other is Regina who holds the keys to life in her palm, where instead of longing for something, Emma can finally grasp it.

But how is she to explain that she did not believe in love, that the emotion was foreign to her until she had seen the Goddess—where love was too small a word to take when devotion suited her madness better? Could she be devoted to Regina?

Perhaps, she already is.

Emma smiles around a lump in her throat, gesturing toward the height of the mountain with a nod of her head. “Come,” she tells Regina, removing her hands from Regina’s cheeks to take several steps backward, her heart feeling lighter. “We’re almost there.”

A confused frown makes its way between Regina’s eyes, her gaze following Emma as she picks up her satchel to secure onto her shoulders. “Princess,” she calls, clearly uncertain. Emma doesn’t blame her, what with a kiss, an orgasm, and so many arguments between them, but it isn’t enough for Emma to shun the woman who is more beautiful than the moon herself.

Her smile starts out slow, as if it debates whether it belongs on Regina’s lips. Emma waits for her, hands on the straps of her satchel as she rocks on the balls of her feet. She had thought Regina would leap at the opportunity, for her to flirt and bat her eyelashes at Emma who will pretend to be annoyed by the playfulness of it all. But Regina hesitates, taking a step backwards toward the boulder they had climbed over not minutes before.

“Come with me,” Emma urges, reaching out toward Regina who chuckles incredulously, stepping on cracks in the mountain path that none of them notice. “I don’t want to fight anymore. You have proven that—that...” Emma stutters through her argument, blinking rapidly. She swallows back her nervousness, stepping up to Regina who braces herself on the boulder behind her, her eyes blown wide in disbelief and awe. “I can be devoted to you too.”

Silence encases them, settling over the mountain and river that stills to listen. They all wait, holding their breath with Emma who forsakes everything for a Goddess in disguise.

…

The mountain groans, heavy with the weight of them that increases the longer Regina refuses to answer Emma. She braces herself on the boulder, the cracks beneath it spreading out in complaint.

The Princess had been given a test, one where her devotion must remain unwavering, where she must recognise Regina for who she truly is—but Emma? Emma splits herself into two, devoted to the Goddess and Regina both, holding them in either hand when Regina is but one person. Does this mean the Princess has failed? Or has she surpassed Regina’s expectations by being able to love both sides of who she is?

“You ask too much from yourself, Princess,” Regina taunts, caught in a delicate balance that hinges on a curse that must be broken. Could Emma still break it if she loves more than the statue? If Regina herself has interfered for too long? The excuse of answering a prayer doesn’t hold so true when that yellow ribbon remains tied around her wrist, hidden from Emma’s eyes under the sleeve of her dress like a token from her lover.

Emma scoffs, stepping forward toward Regina, the cracks running like a fracture along the mountain, breaking and chewing off pebbles that fall into the river below. “I could make you happy,” she breathes, all nervous smiles and spiritual knowing that falls short of the truth. “I asked the Goddess to come to me, for me to prove my worth. If that means proving myself to you—if you are who the Goddess sent…” Emma trails off, shrugging her shoulders in a fashion that doesn’t resemble a royal.

She believes Regina to be a commoner sent by the Goddess, someone to love and hold in the place of a devotion that will still thrive. The thought is not as absurd as Regina believes, but after so many moons of climbing this mountain with a prayer in her heart, how could Emma ever believe that Regina wouldn’t come herself? “You are more deserving than you give you yourself credit for,” rushes out of her before she can filter her words. “The Goddess would not reward you with anything less than her own hand.”

Frowning, Emma removes her satchel from her shoulders to toss it aside, the path they stand on breaking too quickly for any of them to notice. “You speak as if you know the Goddess, and yet you have referred to her as a statue every time I speak of her. What aren’t you telling me?”

_ Clever girl _, Regina thinks, standing toe to toe with Emma who searches for the answers that are staring her in the face. Regina says nothing, her lips stretching into a smirk that turns Emma’s cheeks pink.

“Perhaps you are a demon,” Emma whispers under her breath, and Regina’s eyebrows shoot up at the accusation.

She can’t help her response, even if she tries. “A demon?!” Regina roars, laughter bubbling up from inside her to spill out between them. It’s unabashed and loud, making her stomach ache and her body weak as she leans against the boulder to support herself. There are tears running down her cheeks and she takes gasping breaths that makes her laugh all over again. The wind chases the melody of her giggles with glee, the river swells with humour of their Goddess, and the mountain?

The mountain _ breaks _.

Her laughter is cut short, interrupted by a surprised gasp that should never be heard by someone who could tally her weaknesses. Regina flails, the boulder beneath her falling off the mountain with every intent of taking her with, and she almost thinks the river might catch her; but her arm is grasped in a surprisingly strong grip, trapped in a hold that keeps her from the river’s embrace a while longer. 

“I have you!” Emma grunts, flat on her stomach with one hand bracing herself on the ledge and the other holding onto Regina too tightly. “Don’t let go,” she demands, and Regina finds this situation funnier than the last.

She doesn’t laugh when Emma’s grip slips however, and pale fingers scramble to grasp onto Regina’s elbow with two hands this time. “The ledge will break,” she tells Emma, turning her face away to avoid the rocks that fall into the river below, her feet dangling in the air above a drop that could easily kill a mortal. Her anklet slips from her foot, a shimmering thing that a bird swoops down to catch, nature taking what she needs from Regina to maintain this farce.

Emma’s hold is strong, and she tries her hardest to pull Regina up, but the ledge creaks and groans, and Regina’s smile disappears from her face when she realises Emma would rather die than let her go. Emma hisses out her frustration when Regina starts sliding through her grip again, jerking down closer to the river that readies itself to catch her. “Let me go, Princess. You will kill yourself trying to save us both.”

“No. I—”

Regina interrupts gently, her gaze calm and affectionate. “Let me go,” she urges, releasing her hold on Emma’s arm, her weight pulling on Emma’s grip until the only thing binding them is Emma’s stubbornness that clings to her wrist, still trying to pull her up despite the ledge that cracks with the tell-tale sign of imminent doom .

Her fingers are white with the effort to keep Regina alive, Emma’s elbows digging into the broken rock to hold her steady, and her gaze holds a touch of helplessness that settles on their joined hands that keep slipping from each other. 

She stares at it for too long; fitting pieces together and calculating coincidences that should have never come to light. When Emma snaps her gaze toward Regina, a look of realisation swimming in her eyes, everything shatters around them.

“_ You _,” Emma whispers in awe. The ledge beneath her is too weak to hold any longer, and Regina offers Emma a triumphant smile before she tugs her hand free from the grip, that yellow ribbon snapping off from her wrist to be left behind as she falls.

:::

_ Pain _, blinding pain. It eats its way from outside, chewing through the bone until Emma's heart bleeds with newfound knowledge she can't ignore. 

Her hand is still outstretched where Regina has let go, a yellow ribbon she recognises all too well dangling from her fingertips. Blood from her elbow drips down onto the fabric, dotting it with red. The sight makes Emma's stomach roll. 

She can’t do more than stare at the empty space Regina had occupied, Emma’s gaze darting along the scenery before her in search of her companion. The only thing she _ can _ see are the outlines of too many trees and the occasional shimmer of the river under the moonlight. Regina cannot be found like this in the dark, and the panic of loss quickens Emma’s breath until she feels as if she isn’t breathing at all.

The tears come without forewarning, her chest constricting as a sob spills from her lips with the defeat she refuses to acknowledge. 

How could she have been so blind? 

Grief overtakes her senses, eroding through everything she's ever known as a blood curdling scream rips from her throat. “_ Goddess _ !” she yells, her fingers stretching out toward the river that takes and takes and _ takes _ everything Emma loves. 

There is no room to deny the feeling that Emma believes is too common. Not now, not when the Goddess she has been devoted to has answered her prayers, not when Emma couldn't _ save _ her.

With her tears blurring her vision and her shoulders shaking with her helpless sobs, everything dances before her eyes to a melody that the wind whistles to. “_Silly_ _girl_,” it whispers, mimicking Regina's sentiment as the ledge beneath Emma cracks, the mountain crying pebbles as it too breaks down with its Princess. 

They weep with their daughter, yearning for a Goddess who isn’t as lost as Emma thinks her to be.

…

The river engulfs Regina as she falls, wrapping around her like an embrace that knows what she needs all too well; keeping her safe as it pushes aside rocks that fall from the mountain and splash into the water below. “_She_ _grieves_,” the wind tells Regina, bouncing from the Princess to the Goddess like an eager spectator. 

Regina waits in the water, looking up to where Emma still lies, screaming for a Goddess when it’s _ Regina _she’s lost. “Silly girl,” she hisses, her back tense and the moon laughing at her from where it sits, untouched by a curse. “She’ll die grieving on that ledge.”

The laughter becomes louder, the trees joining in as the wind picks up speed. “_ Oh _!” they taunt, as if they don’t know the state of Regina’s heart, as if they haven’t already mocked her for loving the Princess. 

She rolls her eyes, ready to pull Emma from the ledge herself, but the river pushes her back, the current keeping in her place. “Make sure she doesn’t die,” Regina spits, sitting down in the river that shallows out for her, the water running around her as she picks at the sand like a child awaiting a present. “Please,” she adds when nothing seems to get done, and the wind howls as it dashes off toward Emma, leaving the Goddess in wait.

…

The wind finds their Princess in the height of action—scrambling in the darkness for her discarded tools, bumping into the mountain face as she tries to find her bearings, and tripping over the darkness that giggles at the Princess’s plight. 

“_ She will jump _,” the mountain tells the wind, sounding too much like a tired parent who has seen enough of their child’s antics. 

“_ She will die _,” the stars cry, begging for someone to rescue their daughter. 

The Goddess will not come, the river holding her hostage as Emma fails her final test. What will the Princess do, should she find out the Goddess and Regina are one? The trees had said she would run away, the stars said she will love the Goddess and Regina both, but none of them had thought the Princess would give her life before breaking the curse.

Emma is determined and broken enough to chase after the Goddess, to jump into the water that never gives her anything but grief. Her satchel is gone, the stick taken with it, and the lantern lies too far down for Emma to reach for it—the broken thing would be useless anyways, and Emma only laments for its loss due to its sentiment. Looking up one last time, to the Gods she had ignored in favour of Regina, Emma inhales whatever peace she can find before saying her last prayer. “Help me,” she croaks out, wiping at the tears on her cheeks that are never ending. “Take me to the Goddess.”

She leans forward to leap, her muscles tense with anticipation and fear, but a gust of wind knocks her back, pushing and pushing until Emma stumbles further up the path, crawling on all fours to brace herself against the wind. “_ Come _ ,” the wind whispers, and Emma jumps in fright, the voice familiar but too airy to place. “ _ We are almost there _,” it mocks, repeating Emma’s words to Regina before the fall.

“No,” Emma chokes out, “I can’t go there—I can never go back!” Perhaps, it is shame that makes her dig her heels into the rocks, her fingers grasping onto the boulders that shift and move, falling away to leave her fumbling for something else to hold onto.

Something grumbles beneath her, vibrating with frustration as Emma roots herself further into the mountain. “_ Must you be so stubborn _!” a voice roars. The shout scares Emma out of her mind, her grip on the mountain loosening when she flinches, and the wind laughs as it pushes her along like she had never resisted in the first place.

The first thought that comes to mind is that she must be dreaming—because the wind is whispering, and the mountain is roaring, and Regina is the Goddess she has been devoted to for years. But she’s stumbling along in the dark with the wind guiding her, and the sound of rushing water too close for her to discard this as a trick of the mind. “I’m being helped?” she wonders, but the statement leaves her lungs like a question, and the dancing trees laugh a haunting laugh that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

There, with a drop that’s less deadly than the one Emma had resigned herself to taking, the waterfall stands as a smug saviour that Emma gasps at. If she can get to the top, the waterfall will take her to Regina alive—and that’s the most she can ask for with everything that’s occurred so far.

Heaving herself up on her own with renewed strength, Emma climbs up the mountain to where the Goddess sits in the river. Emma never been unfortunate enough to be pushed down the waterfall before; but this time, with so many things she’s done wrong today, Emma almost has faith that she’ll reach Regina before she knows it, what with the river angry and spiteful, the current a rushing fury that Emma braces herself for.

The wind stops pushing her when she collapses on the riverbank, and the voices that were too loud before hush as she crawls her way toward the statue of the Goddess illuminated by the moon.

Emma wants to cry again, a lump stuck in her throat, but she swallows it down and steps into the cool water like a devotee who wants to wash away all her sins. “Goddess,” she greets, like this meeting isn’t after losing Regina to the river, like the statue and the woman who touched her are two different people. Emma wants to believe that her Goddess is not mischievous, that she would not taunt another so freely and run her toes up a stranger’s ankle during dinner. But Emma has seen it all, she has kissed and touched, and taken whatever Regina would give. 

Had her devotion amounted to nothing more than that? Was she not worthy of the Goddess coming to seek her hand like any other Princess?

(—Would Emma have accepted the proposal had the Goddess come so formally?)

Water splashes onto her tunic and drenches her breeches, Emma soaked to the bone as she finally makes her way to the statue, arms embracing the Goddess with her eyes clenched shut. “Forgive me,” she breathes, “I have been a fool. You have answered my prayers and yet I shunned them as if I did not ask for it. But not today.” Her eyes open, and her arms unclench from the statue that she’s held onto too tightly before.

“I love you,” Emma whispers like a secret, the wind carrying her words away, down to the Goddess who stands up from the river in alarm.

Regina’s eyes are blown wide, her hand over her heart where it breaks into a million pieces. Her suspicions are proven correct, where only the form of the Goddess matters, and Regina herself is discarded—unworthy of a Princess who would rather have a powerful being at her side than a commoner. “She lied,” Regina growls, “she is not devoted to me.”

“_ Hush, hush _,” the river soothes, embracing her in a gentle hold. It carries her on its back, up, up, up the mountain, closer to the Princess, to where Emma clutches onto the statue that keeps Regina cursed, professing her love to marble and gold when Regina has supposedly fallen to her death. The sight makes her lips curl into a sneer, where a curse of her own sits on her tongue, bitter and spiteful, and just as painful as her own heartbreak.

“_ Listen _,” the wind urges, calming its Goddess as the Princess chokes on her own tears.

Emma looks up at the heavens, her tears running into her hairline as she sobs like a commoner who has lost too much. “I love you,” she says again, breaking Regina’s heart further, crushing it into dust when Emma laughs through her tears as if she’s _ relieved _. “I love you more than anything,” is whispered into the statue’s ear, and Regina can feel Emma’s breath on her cheek, the devotion with which she says the words. And then…

And then Emma allows her grip on the statue to release, a smile on her face as the river carries her toward the waterfall. “_ Regina _,” she breathes out carefully, turning from the statue down towards where Regina is supposed to be.

The statue—an immortal, immovable force—breaks before Regina’s eyes. It crumbles at the touch of the river, pieces of marble and gold swimming after Emma who looks at the effigy in alarm. “_ Regina _ , _ Regina _ , _ Regina _,” the river chants, no longer a helpless spectator, no longer a slave to the moon who counts the days since the curse.

Freedom sings through her veins, her shackles broken and cast aside as all her magic returns like it had never been lost. The water rushes up her limbs, settling into her bones like the Goddess she had been, where her dress is made from the river and her hair floats in the air like she’s submerged in an ocean of power. The moon reflects off her skin, catching the light of her dress that glimmers with importance as she makes her way to the edge of the waterfall.

…

Emma takes in a needed breath, filling her lungs with as much air as possible before the water pushes her off the edge. She’s freefalling for a whole second, bracing herself for an impact that will get her to Regina sore and broken—but Emma hangs in mid-fall, her arm grasped and the water falling around her shoulders. “W-what?” she splutters, leaning back to better see what has grabbed ahold of her.

The water splashes in her face, pounds on her shoulders as it rushes down, and her arm aches from where it’s held in a grip too fierce. What Emma finds however, who she sees through the water…

Bathed in moonlight, more beautiful than Emma has ever seen her, Regina bends at the waist to keep Emma in her grip. She says cheekily, “I have you,” like Emma might be falling to her death in much the same way she did.

“You were gone!” Emma yells, choking on the water that goes into her mouth as Regina pulls her up with one hand, Emma scrambling to remain steady in the current that flows around Regina who remains unaffected by it all. “I saw you fall,” Emma splutters, “y-you slipped, you—”

Her rambling is cut short, an affectionate touch to her cheek slowing her thoughts down to take in the moment. “Shh,” Regina whispers, winding her free arm around Emma's waist, pulling her into a hold that brings the two of them closer than they've ever been. “I'm alright, Princess,” she says, tucking Emma's wet hair behind her ear. 

There are so many things to say, so many secrets they must sort through, but Emma sinks into Regina's arms and breathes in her scent, forgetting everything for a blissful moment. She smells of thunder and rain, of clay and salt, and all the prayers that have been fed into the river. It makes Emma swoon, the hands on her back tightening when her knees tremble.

“Did you mean it?” Regina asks, stroking her fingers through Emma's hair, keeping her warm as Emma shivers in her embrace. 

Emma chuckles nervously, the birds chirping along with her as they ready themselves for the morning. She says, “Most things,” like there hasn't been a time when Emma spoke the truth—like she hasn't thought of Regina as stunning and asked the Goddess for strength to resist the temptation. “All things,” Emma rectifies, pulling back to look into Regina's eyes, the night slowly turning into day that still lingers with the darkness. 

Regina looks at Emma knowingly, that mischievous gleam in her eye making Emma uneasy. She leans forward, lips ghosting Emma's cheek, tongue tracing her jawline before Regina whispers, “I can be devoted to you too.” 

Weak kneed and exhausted, Emma grins at Regina, her smile splitting her face in two even if Regina purses her lips, that look on her face a warning enough for Emma to brace herself. 

She hadn't realised how much Regina had been supporting her, but when Regina releases her, Emma falls like a sack of flour, a surprised yelp echoing in the mountain. She thinks she's going to be eaten by the river, but Emma's bottom hits the dry ground, safe from the waterfall that's too far out. 

Regina laughs—head thrown back, arm around her stomach, chest heaving—and Emma looks up at her like a lovesick fool. She scoots forward until her knees knock into Regina's legs, her palm cupping a handful of water that she splashes at Regina's face. 

The spluttering gasp she receives is almost worth it. But Regina's joyous expression at finding the Princess to be as playful as her, is _ definitely _ worth it. 

“Marry me,” Emma says before Regina can retaliate. 

Regina considers it, pondering over the question as she leans over Emma's form, knees sinking into the riverbank on either side of Emma's legs. “What will you give the Goddess in exchange for her hand in marriage?” she asks, serious again. 

The last time Emma had answered, it hadn't been what Regina wanted to hear, and perhaps the answer had been so rehearsed that it wasn't genuine enough. Cupping Regina's face, Emma leans up, closing the space between them until their lips almost meet. 

“I will love you,” Emma breathes out in a promise, “and I will live for you—_ with _ you, if you will have me, Regina.”

Silence settles between them, heavy and harsh, and Emma thinks she might have lost her chance, but Regina sighs, resting her forehead against Emma's with her eyes closed. “I am no longer cursed,” she whispers. Emma's ears perk up at this new information, but she supposes it's a conversation to be had later. “I want a _ life _. To experience and live through everything. I do not need you to be pure—I need you to be human.”

_ Human _. A person who will age and die whilst Regina remains immortal. Will the love and devotion still be present? Will Regina go searching for another when Emma grows old? What of their—

“Do you not trust me to love you for lifetimes?” The question is delivered with power, with the strength of a Goddess who has too much to lose. Emma will die, but Regina will be left behind. 

She's been selfish again, asking for too much, but Emma cannot deny the joy she feels, how her heart soars with the Goddess in her arms—with _ Regina _ in her arms. “I trust you,” Emma breathes, relinquishing her worries and casting away her sorrows. “I will never doubt you again.”

The sky lightens at last, the birds taking flight to find food as Emma waits for Regina's verdict. _Say_ _yes_, she urges, wiggling her eyebrows at Regina who pushes her down, claiming her lips in a kiss that steals her breath. 

Hands roam and teeth nip, making Emma ache as she shifts to gain leverage on Regina who keeps her pinned down. “Yes,” she rasps against Emma's ear, “The Goddess accepts your proposal.” 

The birds squawk in fright from their perches when Emma squeals in triumph, silenced again only by the Goddess’s kisses that seal the fate of their love. 

:::

230 years later:

The hospital is always buzzing with activity, and this ward is especially busy with new arrivals that never stop coming. 

Regina makes her way down the corridor, heels clacking against the linoleum as she peers into the maternity room. “Oh, she's precious,” Regina hears, parents of the newborn cooing at their little Princess happily. 

The sight makes her smile, where such joys are something she will never have, but will partake in without spite or bitterness. Her coat sleeve is tugged on just as she makes to go inside, Regina pausing to turn back. 

“You're pretty,” the child says, looking up at her with dark eyes and curly black hair, her skin the colour of mahogany. “Are you here to see my sister?”

Regina crouches down, looking upon the child no older than five. She's beautiful—but when has Emma not been? A smile touches her lips, affectionate and loving as she pulls the child's thumb out of her mouth. 

“I came to see you,” Regina answers, and the child looks up at her in awe when she stands again to leave. She offers herself a moment to take in the presence of Emma's new life, one that will be bound to her like the last two had been. “We will meet again soon,” Regina promises the child, not bothering to learn her name when the joy of such a gift will come in its own time. 

Stepping back from whence she came, Regina disappears like a Goddess without a name, the wind howling outside and the stars sighing at a new love story that will be born.

When the water takes, Regina muses, opening up her umbrella to shield her from the rain, it takes _ everything _ . But when the water gives, it gives love—it gives _ life _, and the Goddess of the River had been dead for too long not to accept the water’s gifts now. 

“I told you,” Regina laughs, turning to look upon the child who is drenched, standing out in the rain with her eyes wide and devotion bubbling up so fiercely in her spirit, “I will love you for lifetimes to come.” 

And so Regina shall, and she _ will _as long as the water continues to give. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking on this story and leaving your love! Don't forget to view, comment, and leave kudos on the art that inspired this world (and cured me of my writer's block).
> 
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